


Laying the Truth on the Table

by snailboat64



Category: Human Target (TV 2010)
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snailboat64/pseuds/snailboat64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guerrero finds an unexpected answer when Chance tests a new truth serum. drugged!chance slash</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laying the Truth on the Table

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I own nothing, I get paid nothing.**
> 
>  
> 
> I took a whole month off writing fic to do NaNoWriMo this year, and I'm pleased to say I DID IT! I wanted to ease back into writing 'I will let you down' so I wrote this one shot that (in the way fic always seems to do) got away from me and ended up a lot longer than I'd planned!
> 
> So here it is FOR MATURE EYES ONLY, a little drugged!Chance slash fic for you. Dedicated to Cedricsowner who, bless her, messaged me every day in NaNoWriMo to ask for a word count and generally spur me on to the finish.

**  
**

* * *

"Didn't you test this wonder drug of yours yesterday?" Winston said, provoking a sigh and an eye-roll from Guerrero.

"It's not the drug we're testing, dude. It's our responses to the drug."

"Yesterday it was Guerrero's turn and today it's mine," Chance explained.

"I still don't get why the use of a drug that's so unreliable would ever catch on," Winston frowned. "What's the use of a truth serum that doesn't make everyone tell the truth?"

"There's no such thing as a truth serum that's 100% effective, Winston," Chance said. "And an 80% success rate with T-18215 is high enough that its use could become SOP within the military and intelligence communities."

"That's 'Standard Operating Procedure' to you," Guerrero added.

"I know what SOP stands for, thank you Guerrero!"

"The point is that if spooks are using this stuff, which they probably already are, there's going to be a demand for it on the black market."

"It didn't take much for me to get hold of a sample," Guerrero said.

"So there's a good chance that sooner or later someone is going to try dosing us with it and it's better to know up-front whether we're susceptible to it, or if we're part of the 15% who can resist it."

"It just sounds like an unnecessary thing to- Wait, don't you mean 20%?"

"Nope," Guerrero said. "5% of test subjects got as high as a kite but were completely uncooperative. And by the way, I don't remember you being this bothered about me taking it yesterday!"

"Yeah, funny that," Winston said darkly.

"To be fair, Guerrero, you'd already taken it before he knew anything about it," Chance pointed out.

"And would you even have bothered telling me about your little science experiment if I hadn't heard him singing? I take it Guerrero is one of the 5%."

"Nope," Guerrero said.

"Then why the hell were you belting out The Stones greatest hits?"

"Standard technique, dude. The drug makes you wanna talk but with a bit of training you can filter out whatever your interrogator is trying to make you focus on and give'em something else instead. It has to be something that is deeply ingrained in your long term memory though."

"And you chose The Rolling Stones' back catalogue?"

"Wasn't sure how long the effects were gonna last," Guerrero shrugged. "I didn't want to run out of material."

"I'm still not clear on why you had to sing though," Chance smirked.

"It messes with your inhibitions, okay? Trust me, it was no picnic for me either!"

"Winston, there is absolutely nothing to worry about, okay? It's perfectly safe, there's no risk involved in me talking this stuff. Knowing ahead of time whether I'm susceptible to it is a strategic advantage, and it could be important that I know what it feels like to be dosed with it. You're always complaining that I don't plan ahead; well this is me planning ahead."

Winston sighed. "I know damn well that you're going to take this stuff regardless of what I say to you. Just do me a favour and wait until I'm out of the building. I've heard you sing before, Chance, and it's not an experience I'd care to repeat."

* * *

Guerrero took Chance's health and wellbeing extremely seriously, and despite what he'd told Winston, the sample of T-18215 had not been easy to get hold of, even for him. He knew that situation was liable to change though; all it would take was one lab tech with sticky fingers tempted by the prospect of making a little cash on the side and the drug would be analysed and synthesized by any number of unscrupulous labs around the world. It was vital to stay ahead of the trend and Guerrero routinely subjected himself and Chance to tests on any substance that was likely to affect their ability to think clearly, whenever it was safe to do so. It was something that Joubert had insisted on, and Guerrero happened to agree that being forewarned was being forearmed so he continued the practice even after they left his employment.

Both he and Chance had a high tolerance for the kinds of drugs that were used in interrogations, having trained extensively in the techniques that made it possible to resist their effects, but whenever a new drug came out there was always the risk that the tried and tested methods would not work. On a more personal level, Guerrero had to be sure that Chance could physically cope with the drug. He would never forget the night when someone spiked Junior's drink with a bad batch of MDMA and he was on the verge of having a stroke when Guerrero found him collapsed in an alley behind a nightclub. It hadn't been possible to test the chemical composition of what exactly he'd been given so it was difficult to know what exactly he'd been reacting to. Chance had been poisoned more than once since then but it was always that image of him alone and defenceless that stuck with Guerrero. Chance could out-think or out-fight the worst of opponents, but he was still only human and there was little he could do against an attack taking place actually inside his own body.

Guerrero didn't explain any of this to Winston, preferring to let him believe that he and Chance were just playing with a new toy and having fun at one another's expense. He'd already studied the research data on T-18215 and knew there was little to no chance of either of them having an adverse reaction, but he'd tested it on himself first and had an extensive medical kit on standby just to be sure. If Chance was aware of just how concerned Guerrero was each time he was exposed to a new drug he never openly acknowledged it, although Guerrero suspected he knew.

Winston made one last effort to try to talk Chance out of taking the drug but it was a little half-hearted, as if on some level he understood that there would be an advantage to the experiment, not that he would ever openly admit it. Guerrero had to agree to call him to let him know that Chance was okay once they were done before he would leave, although he refused Winston's initial request for hourly updates. As soon as he left they locked themselves in the windowless side room that had once served as the previous Christopher Chance's darkroom in the days before digital cameras. The photographic equipment was long gone, replaced with a table and couple of chairs, and they used it occasionally as a makeshift interrogation room or holding cell. Guerrero had chosen it as the place to conduct their test because it was windowless but still with good ventilation, and although the risk was remote he didn't want Chance to have the opportunity to do something stupid like dive head first through a window whilst he was under the influence of the drug. He wasn't expecting any hallucinogenic side effects but a bare room with a locked exit was a sensible precaution, as well as being the most likely environment in which the drug would be administered in the field.

Guerrero double checked the contents of his medical kit, making sure that he had shots of both adrenaline and sedatives on standby in case they were needed. Chance sat down on one of the chairs, tipping it back so that it teetered on its back legs, using the wall for balance.

"Anything I should know before we do this?" Chance asked as Guerrero carefully drew a dose of the drug into a syringe. "Any tips or warnings?"

"That would kind of defeat the purpose of the exercise, bro. But I will tell you this: it kicks in fast."

"Any idea how long it's gonna last?"

"Hard to say. A had a standard dose yesterday and it only last a half hour, but then I do have a faster than average metabolism. Did you give Winston the note?"

"Yep. It's sealed and he's not going to open it until I ask him to corroborate the contents, assuming you manage to get me to tell you what the code phrase is, of course."

"Don't be too cocky, dude," Guerrero smiled. "There's a very good chance this shit is going to knock you on your ass!"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?"

"Just don't forget to tell me if you have any weird physical symptoms, okay? This stuff is only supposed to act on your mind, not your body."

"Duly noted. Now are we going to do this or what?"

Guerrero double checked the dose then sat down on the chair next to Chance. Chance leaned forward so that his chair was resting safely on all four legs again and offered Guerrero his arm to inject. Guerrero swabbed a patch of skin with alcohol before sticking him with the needle, making Chance grunt.

"Dude, you are such a baby."

"You just caught me surprise, that's all."

"In less than five minutes time you are going to totally lose your ability to bullshit me, bro, so make the most of it."

Chance laughed. "You want to put money on that, Guerrero?"

"It's probably a bit late for that. You're probably already starting to feel the effects."

"Hmm, maybe," Chance conceded, laughing again for no apparent reason.

Guerrero wanted to let the drug take full effect before he attempted any kind of interrogation, but from the way that Chance was smiling and giggling to himself he was beginning to suspect that he might well fall into the 5% of people who ended up buzzed but uncooperative.

"Anything you want to share, Chance?" Guerrero asked as he carefully packed away the used syringe and what little was left in the vial of T-18215.

"Nope. And FYI, your interrogation technique totally sucks," Chance said, laughing again.

"I haven't started yet. I'm just trying to establish a baseline for-"

"I love your hands," Chance interrupted, apropos of nothing.

"Huh?"

"Your hands. Those flappy bits at the end of your arms."

"I know what my hands are, dude. I'm just a little bit confused as to why you're suddenly declaring your affection for them."

"They're good hands," Chance said solemnly.

Guerrero could see that Chance was definitely under the influence of the drug now, but it didn't seem to be affecting him in the same way that it had him. Guerrero's experience with T-18215 had been comparable to needing to piss whilst standing in a room full of hundreds of dripping taps; he could block out the dripping with the sound of his own voice but the pressure was still there and the need to release it just kept building until his teeth ached and his body felt ready to burst. It was a struggle of mind over body that could only end one of two ways: either he gave into the pressure, or he managed to wait it out until the drugs wore off. It had been difficult, he remembered the cold sweat and the way his body was rigid with the effort it took to fight the urge just to tell Chance anything he wanted to know, but Chance wasn't exhibiting any of those signs of stress.

"They haven't let me down yet," he said, trying to wrangle Chance's odd comments into the beginnings of a conversation. "Why are you talking about my hands?"

"Because I like to watch them," Chance replied with an honesty that surprised Guerrero. Perhaps Chance was susceptible to the effects of the drug, it might explain why he seemed so relaxed, but Guerrero had expected to observe some indication that he was at least trying to fight it.

"We're not here to talk about my hands, Chance. I need you to think about the note you gave Winston. Do you remember the note?"

"I love your hands," Chance said, ignoring the question. "And your fingers. All of them. Every little piggy."

 _Okay_ , Guerrero thought, _he ignored a direct question and referred to my fingers as piggies. That does seem to indicate he is in the 5%._

He decided to try him with an easy question and see how he would react. "Chance, what year is it?"

Chance ignored him and stared at Guerrero's hands resting on the table in front of him. He seemed perfectly content just to stare, a strange little smile quirking his lips.

"Dude! Concentrate! What year is it?"

Chance gave a heavy sigh. "It's the year of the pig. Pigs are clever. Like your fingers. Very intelligent."

 _That was definitely non-cooperation. Even if he was referring to the Chinese year of the pig he's out by about four years,_ Guerrero thought.

As Chance seemed to be fixating on his hands, Guerrero decided to see what would happen once he removed the distraction by hiding them under the table. He moved his left hand away without a problem, but as soon as Chance noticed him moving his right hand, he reached across the table and grabbed his wrist with both hands.

"No!"

"What's wrong?" Guerrero asked, resisting the urge to pull his wrist away from Chance's none to gentle grip.

"No," Chance repeated.

"Okay, I'll leave my hand on the table. Is that what you want?"

Chance didn't reply but he did ease up on his grip slightly, allowing the blood to flow back into Guerrero's hand.

"Dude, you feeling okay?"

Chance let go with his right hand, still gripping Guerrero's wrist firmly with his left, and began stroking the palm of his hand and along his fingers. Guerrero found the gesture odd but not unpleasant, and it seemed to make Chance happy so he let it continue, trying not to squirm when Chance touched a particularly ticklish spot. There was a thin line of slightly pinkish grey skin along the side of his thumb where he'd been cut in a knife fight and Chance knew that the area was still oversensitive thanks to some lingering nerve damage.

"This little piggy was nearly cut into bacon," Chance said, tracing the scar with his fingertips.

Guerrero laughed when the penny dropped. Chance was playing his own twisted version of "This Little Piggy Went to Market". Chance looked up and grinned, evidently pleased that his friend was enjoying the game.

He moved along to Guerrero's index finger. "This little piggy picks your nose. Or blows a guy's brains out."

"I don't pick my nose!"

Chance took the offending finger between his finger and thumb and shook it vigorously back and forth. "Bad piggy!"

Guerrero couldn't help but marvel at the way Chance's brain was handling the effects of the alien substance. He didn't think Chance's odd behaviour was a way of counteracting interrogation techniques because Guerrero barely even started to question him. Besides, a children's rhyme was poorly suited for the purpose of occupying Chance's mind so that he didn't give up the information he was trying to hide; it was far too short, too simple. He didn't seem in any way suggestible either, so that left Chance in the 5% that got high on T18215. There had been little data in the reports Guerrero had read about how the drug effected that 5%, other than that the subjects became uncooperative, experienced elevated moods and exhibited a marked lack of inhibitions. The effects were short term and deemed not to be harmful, but in hindsight Guerrero was wondering if he should have tried to find out a bit more.

Something about Chance's childish game just didn't sit right with Guerrero. Although Chance could be immature at times, hiding from his problems rather than facing them head-on, he was not by nature actually childish. The idea that deep down Chance wanted to play children's games but was normally too inhibited to do so was blatantly ridiculous, so there had to be something else going on here that Guerrero just wasn't seeing.

"What are you doing, dude? Seriously, I don't know if this is just weird ass distraction technique…"

Chance ignored him, turning his attention to Guerrero's middle finger. "This little piggy has anger issues and is hostile to other road users," he continued, moving on to his ring finger. "And this little piggy hates commitment."

Okay, Guerrero could see where he was coming from there. He wasn't above flipping the bird at other drivers, and he no intention of ever wearing a wedding ring.

"But this little piggy is my favourite," Chance sighed happily, tapping Guerrero's little finger. "Smaller than the rest and always off to one side of his own."

"Chance, I know you're out of your gourd right now, but if you even think about drawing a comparison between me and my little finger I will not be held accountable for my actions!"

Chance looked up and met his gaze with slightly glassy looking eyes, his pupils unnaturally wide and dark. Guerrero was suddenly acutely aware that he had even less idea than usual what was going through his friend's mind at that point and Chance was playing a game that he had no hope of guessing the rules for.

"I _want_ this piggy," he said, staring at Guerrero for a second before leaning in and sucking the finger in question into his mouth.

At first Guerrero was too surprised to move and Chance took advantage of his inaction by swirling his tongue around his pinkie finger and applying just enough pressure with his teeth to make it clear that trying to pull his finger away would not be a wise move.

Guerrero's mind was frantically trying to make sense of what was happening. Chance said that he wanted that piggy, and if that finger was supposed to represent him…

 _Fuck_ , Chance was now sucking a second finger into his mouth and it was getting more difficult to think straight. Chance was making contented little humming sounds, really going all out on sucking and licking his fingers, and Guerrero realised with a start that he hadn't even tried to pull his hand away or told him to stop.

"Chance, buddy, you're weirding me out here. You really need to stop doing that."

Chance looked up at him, still sucking his fingers in a way that was just down right pornographic, and shook his head. Guerrero knew he was in trouble the second he looked into those dark eyes, showing only a narrow ring of the familiar blue. He was already half-hard and in a deep dark corner of his brain he was already making the mental substitution of his dick in Chance's mouth instead of his fingers.

He shot to his feet, knocking over his chair and wrenching his hand away from Chance's mouth, heedless to the pain as his teeth scraped the skin from his knuckles. Chance's expression changed from a contented smile to a scowl in a heartbeat, and suddenly his air of playfulness evaporated.

"Why did you do that?" Chance asked, sounding hurt.

"Because you're drugged and you don't know what you're doing right now, buddy."

"But you liked it."

Guerrero didn't bother to deny it. The evidence straining at his fly would have proved him a liar anyway. As long as this didn't go any further than a bit of harmless finger sucking he'd be able to rationalise away his hard-on as a purely automatic response to his fingers in a warm wet mouth, and he could pretend that he hadn't felt a jolt of desire for Chance himself.

"Yeah, well you caught me by surprise there."

"You did like it," Chance persisted, standing up and moving towards him. "You like my mouth."

_Jesus! Why did no one mention side effects may include increased libido and a tendency to attempt to seduce anyone within arm's reach?_

He wished he could explain away his own reaction as an after effect of taking the drug himself, but he knew it wasn't true. If it was going to fuck with his sexual responses it would have done so the previous day, wouldn't it?

"Not the point, Chance. How I feel is irrelevant. You're doped up and I can't-"

"Can't what? Let me touch you? Let me suck you?"

"You never wanted to before."

"Are you sure about that, Guerrero?"

Chance had him backed up against the wall and although Guerrero knew of at least fifty ways of getting out of the situation, some of which wouldn't even involve hurting that Chance badly, part of him really needed to know if it was just the drugs talking or if this was the real, uninhibited Chance.

"I think I would have noticed if you had those kinds of feelings for me, dude."

"And what are you noticing now?" Chance reached for Guerrero's hand, placing over the straining bulge in Guerrero's jeans, covering it with his own hand and applying just enough pressure to make him squirm.

"Chance, don't…"

Chance took Guerrero's hand away and placed it on his own crotch, pressing against it to make sure Guerrero could feel that he was hard too. He leaned in until his lips were almost brushing against Guerrero's ear and breathed "Is it starting to make sense yet?"

Guerrero knew he shouldn't let the situation continue, but when Chance began licking and biting at the side of his neck, his free hand slipped up around to cup the back of Chance's head instead of pushing him away. It was only when Chance made a low growling sound at the back of his throat and thrust harder against Guerrero's hand at his groin that he snapped to senses and snatched his hands away from Chance the second time that evening.

"Dude, this is not happening! Not here, not now, not like this."

"But I want to," Chance said, as if that was all the explanation the situation required, and he genuinely couldn't see why Guerrero wasn't on board with the idea.

"You are not thinking straight right now. If you want to do this once the drugs have worn off-"

"Don't need to think about it, Guerrero."

"Yeah, well I think I do, okay? So just back off now before I-" Guerrero had forgotten what he'd told Chance, that the drug would affect his mind and not his body, and there was nothing wrong with Chance's reflexes. Even as Guerrero tried to push him away, Chance grabbed one of the hands braced against his chest and twisted it into a hold that threatened to snap Guerrero's thumb like a twig if he continued to resist. In other circumstances Guerrero would have gladly sacrificed a couple of broken bones to get out of a tricky situation but they were both going to have to live with consequences once the drug had worn off.

Chance leaned in closer, nudging a leg between Guerrero's and pressed his body against him, trying to achieve as much contact between them as possible whist taking care not to increase the pressure on the lock he had on Guerrero's hand.

"I know you want this Guerrero," Chance said, another simple statement of fact, not requiring clarification or explanation.

Guerrero had never been so acutely aware of the discrepancy in height between them, Chance's body like a solid wall of muscle holding him pinned to the brick wall at his back. When they were sparring there were multiple variables that tipped the advantage one way or the other, but when there was no room to manoeuvre, when it came down to brute strength, the deciding factor was who was willing to inflict the most pain on the other. At that moment Chance was willing to hurt Guerrero to get what he wanted, but Guerrero wasn't prepared to let either of them get hurt, knowing that the fallout for Chance later when he was in his right mind would be much worse than any physical injury.

"You want this," Chance murmured again, nuzzling against Guerrero neck, his teeth nipping at his skin for a moment before smoothing the sting away with a swipe of his tongue.

And fuck, he _did_ want it. It was more than idle curiosity as to what it would feel like to have his dick in Chance's mouth, a natural response to the mental image generated by the way he'd sucked on his fingers. He wanted to feel Chance's naked cock in his hand, not obscured and buried beneath a layer of denim. He wanted to feel the weight of it, to know its exact size and shape, and to feel it sliding through his fist, knowing that he was giving Chance pleasure. He wanted to see the look on Chance's face as he came, to hear what sounds he made, what words of encouragement he would whisper for only his ears to hear. He wanted to watch fall him apart and know that it was him doing that to him.

Chance was right. He wanted this. And he wanted it badly enough that couldn't lie to Chance and let him take by force something he would willingly give.

"This… is a really, really bad idea," Guerrero moaned, sliding the hand that was still sandwiched between their chests up to Chance's cheek, making him turn his head to look at him. At some point Chance had moved his hand, the one that wasn't currently occupied in bending Guerrero's hand at an unnatural angle, to rest on Guerrero's hip. Guerrero hadn't even been aware of it until it slipped beneath his shirt, stroking over his ribs and sending shivers through his entire body, shivers that made the full body contact between them electrifying.

And yes, truth be told, Guerrero did want Chance's mouth. He wanted it anyway he could get it, and currently it was right in front of him, smiling with the lips slightly parted, an open invitation.

"You really want this?" he asked, needing some kind of final confirmation from Chance before he dropped a barrier that would be impossible to rebuild if they went ahead with this.

Chance's smile widened, just for a moment, but instead of giving a verbal reply he closed the gap between them letting a kiss do all the talking for him. There was no hesitation, no careful closed mouth meeting of their lips, just the hot slide of their tongues reaching straight in to the heart of the kiss, tasting and teasing, stealing each other's breath away as the intensity of it seemed to burn up all the oxygen in the small room. Guerrero let his hand stroke the back of Chance's neck this time, holding him close then running his fingers through the surprisingly soft blond hair.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to encounter any further resistance, Chance released Guerrero's hand, letting it stray down to rest on his ass as he set about ridding Guerrero of his shirt. They had to break away for a moment as Chance stripped him of his under shirt, and again seconds later when Guerrero dragged Chance's t-shirt over his head, dumping it on the floor.

Chance ran his hands over Guerrero chest, more sparsely haired than his own but perhaps a little more defined, as he kissed and bit at his shoulder, no longer light teasing nips but firmer bites that would leave bruises on Guerrero's pale skin. Guerrero moaned, balanced on the edge between pleasure and pain, the knowledge that Chance was leaving his mark turning him on as much as the contact itself. He was gripping Chance's arms so tightly that he was likely to leave bruises of his own where his fingers were digging into his biceps, and there was something reassuring about the idea of them marking each other, leaving a visible reminder on each other's bodies that would linger after the moment had passed.

Guerrero pushed from his mind the fact that they were only doing this because Chance was riding a chemical high that was pushing them well beyond the normal limits of their friendship. Right now they both wanted this and the awkwardness and recriminations would have to wait until later. He couldn't say no and Chance wouldn't let him, so the only choice left was just to give in and roll with it, hoping that when it was over they'd still be able to look one another in the eye.

Chance's caresses were fierce and demanding in a way that Guerrero suspected was only possible because of the liberating effect of the drug. He just took what he wanted, pinching and biting at Guerrero's flesh, sucking a nipple into his mouth and biting it so hard that Guerrero cried out, a little shocked by the viciousness of it. He half expected to see that Chance had drawn blood, but at the same time he was hopelessly aroused by his uncharacteristic savagery. He glanced down as Chance turned his attention to his other nipple, and although the first one was red and swollen, bruising beginning to form where Chance had sunk his teeth into it, he hadn't broken the skin.

Chance's hands were now tugging at his belt, and although he'd handled his body roughly so far, Guerrero wasn't overly concerned that he'd hurt him where it mattered. Chance deftly popped open the button and ripped open the zipper of Guerrero's jeans, and as he slid his hand inside the boxers beneath, both of them were struggling for breath. Guerrero couldn't help giving a needy little sound that was half-moan half-sigh as Chance's hand closed around his cock, coaxing it free from his clothing, as his other hand shoved his jeans down, out of the way.

Chance lazily pumped his hand a couple of times as he kissed Guerrero roughly on the mouth, biting and sucking at his lower lip before releasing it and dropping to his knees. He rested one hand on Guerrero's hip and looked up at him, his eyes wide and serious, somehow naked, open and honest in a way that Guerrero was struggling to define.

"Trust me?" he asked.

It was a fair question given the fact that Chance had sunk his teeth into about every part of Guerrero's body that he could reach, and now his mouth was only inches away from his dick. Guerrero knew that he should at least feel a little wary, but his brain kept skipping back to the image of Chance sucking on his fingers. He was so painfully hard, and Chance's hand was still holding his cock firmly, just on the right side of uncomfortable. It was taking all his will power to stop himself just thrusting into his hand, but he knew that Chance's question was important and needed an answer.

"Always."

Chance flashed him a smile, looking so genuinely happy with his answer that Guerrero felt a heart-wrenching pang of guilt. The trust went both way and he was taking advantage of Chance's altered mental state to get off. If that wasn't a betrayal of that trust, what was?

"Then trust me to know what I want."

Guerrero barely had time to register what Chance had said before his mouth engulfed him. There was no hint of teeth, just the soft slide of his lips encircling him and the maddeningly wet heat of his tongue pressed to his slit, before it traced the contours of his cock, as if Chance were carefully committing them to memory. The gentleness of it was unexpected after all the biting and grabbing, and it was too gentle, too tender for what Guerrero felt he deserved after letting things get this far when Chance was in no state to be doing this.

"God… Chance… we can't…"

Chance glanced up at him, looking every bit as hot as Guerrero had imagined. His hands were now resting on Chance's shoulders, and he really was trying to get enough control over his body to push him away. But then Chance's hands tightened on his hips and he was pulling at him, making him push deeper into his mouth and Guerrero's good intentions faded away in a drawn out groan.

The tentative caresses of Chance's tongue were replaced by the blistering heat and friction of his mouth sucking and pulling, all the while his hands encouraging Guerrero to thrust deeper and faster. Guerrero's hands moved to cup Chance's face, and despite the insistent hands urging him on, he tried not to push to deeply into his mouth. Chance didn't seem to care about gagging, and from the soft moans that reverberated around Guerrero's dick it seemed as though he was enjoying it almost as much as Guerrero was.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of Guerrero's mind, where a few lonely neurons were managing to fire, there was a fleeting suspicion that Chance was too damn good at this for it to be the first time he'd ever sucked cock. Fleeting as the thought was, it ignited a surge of possessiveness within Guerrero.

_If Chance likes to fuck men, then I am the only one he should be with. He's mine… he's always been mine._

Guerrero didn't realise that he'd said at least part of it aloud until Chance backed off, his lips slightly swollen, reddened and wet. He looked up at Guerrero, smiling. "Now you get it," he said. "Took you long enough."

Hauling Chance to his feet would have required too much effort and Guerrero's legs were little better than jello at this point anyway, so he just let them give way and slid down the wall so he was sitting in front of Chance.

"Just how fucked are you right now?" he asked, grabbing Chance's face between his hands and staring into his eyes. They'd lost that glassy look, although the pupils were still blown wide, and there was something there that had been missing since the T-18215 had kicked in, a little spark that showed him that Chance was back in control.

"Honestly? Not as fucked as I'd like to be." Chance caught the momentary panic that gripped Guerrero as he realised that Chance knew exactly what was going on. "I didn't mean that I'm sorry the drugs are wearing off, Guerrero, although I'm pretty sure they are. I meant fucked in a more… um, literal sense."

When Guerrero didn't move, Chance sighed and leaned in a kissed him, more gently than their previous kisses but with the same heat and need behind it that Guerrero had felt before. He couldn't help but respond, even though his mind was still reeling at the thought that Chance actually did want this, whether he was high or not.

As their mouths parted, Chance murmured: "Please tell me that I have not just fucked up here, Guerrero."

Guerrero ran his tongue over his lips. "Too early to tell. Maybe we should finish what we started."

Chance grinned. "I'm cool with that."

"Just how literally did you want me to take what you said?"

There was a moment's hesitation before Chance replied, which Guerrero took as a good sign. Chance had to think about his answer, and that told him he was not just acting purely on impulse anymore.

"Depends. You got anything in that medical kit we could use as slick?"

Guerrero's mouth went dry. "Yeah, I think so."

Guerrero felt spectacularly uncoordinated and exposed as he got to his feet, his jeans bunched around his knees and his cock still standing proud. Chance got up and sat on the table as Guerrero ransacked his kit until he found a small jar of Vaseline.

"You done this before?" Guerrero didn't want to know the answer but he needed it.

"Been a while," Chance smiled. "But yeah."

Chance pulled Guerrero towards him to stand between his legs.

"I never thought…" Guerrero stopped and shook his head slightly. Now really wasn't the time to talk.

He leaned in and kissed Chance, and now they knew they were on the same page it was fierce and bruising again. Guerrero all but ripped Chance's jeans open, eager to feel his cock in his hand, and Chance moaned into his mouth as his fingers closed around him and moved in slow easy strokes.

"Fuck, seeing you like this…"Guerrero murmured, unable to finish the thought as Chance rested his head on his shoulder, his breath a hot rush against his chest. He reached for the Vaseline and pressed into Guerrero's hand.

"I want more, Guerrero. I want you…"

Guerrero helped strip him of his jeans, and pushed him back onto the table.

"This might be easier if-"

"I want to see your face," Guerrero said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. Chance flushed, suddenly a little self-conscious about lying back on the table, naked and exposed, but he did as Guerrero asked, leaning back propped up on his elbows as Guerrero began to prep him with his fingers.

It was suddenly a lot more intimate as they could look at each other's faces, taking in every flicker of emotion as Guerrero fingered him slowly and deliberately, loosening his muscles and searching for the sweet spot that would make Chance start to unravel. When he found it, Chance cursed and held on to the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip, losing all self-consciousness as Guerrero's touch ignited flames of pure pleasure searing through his body, until he was writing helplessly against his hand.

With his other hand Guerrero was stroking over Chance's exposed flesh, sweeping up his thighs, circumnavigating around his cock, careful not to touch it even as it twitched in the close proximity of his hand. He stroked across Chance's belly, his fingers lingering as he slowly traced the definition of his abdominal muscles and pectorals, brushing the pad of his thumb against the hardened nub of a nipple.

"You okay?" Guerrero asked.

"God, yeah. 'M ready." Chance said, slightly slurring his words.

Guerrero worked a little of the makeshift lube over his cock as Chance watched. Guerrero leaned over him, bracing his hands against the table on either side his head, and brushed their lips together in a teasing kiss, the head of his cock nudging against his ass. Chance kissed back, clinging to him as if he were a drowning man and Guerrero was his only hope of rescue. There a was a little resistance and then Chance's body gave and Guerrero was sinking inside him, moaning as he slowly pushed deeper until his full length was buried in the slick, clenching heat, and Chance wrapped his legs around his waist.

"Fuck… Guerrero…"

"Does it hurt?" he asked, pressing kisses onto Chance's shoulder and neck, breathing in the scent of sweat mixed with cologne rising off his heated skin.

"A little," Chance said, his voice husky and breathless. "But it's good."

Guerrero gave them both a moment to adjust and then took it slowly, rocking into him with gentle thrusts, his fingers biting deep into Chance's hips as he tried to hold back. Chance himself showed no such restraint, using the leverage of his heels against Guerrero's butt to push him deeper and faster.

"Jesus, Guerrero! You're not going to break me!" he moaned, digging his fingers into Guerrero's back and biting at one of the bruises he left earlier on his shoulder.

The jolt of pleasure/pain burst through the dam of his self-control, and he let go, giving into the urgency in Chance's voice and his own raging need. He grabbed Chance's shoulders and rested his forehead on Chance's so they were eye-to-eye, breathing each other's breath as Guerrero fucked him harder, fast and deep. The table was far from ideal, creaking under Chance's weight and the legs screeching as the force of Guerrero pounding into him made it scrape inch by inch across the dirty wooden floor boards. The rougher he was the more vocal Chance got, and Guerrero was oblivious to any other sound but Chance's voice, breathy and wrecked as he moaned his name between barely intelligible curses and words of encouragement.

Chance's cock lay solidly against his belly, weeping with pre-cum and aching for some much needed friction, but when he tried to touch it, Guerrero grabbed his wrist and pinned his hand onto the table top beside his head.

"That belongs to me now," Guerrero moaned, his voice rough and dangerous.

"Please… I need… Guerrero… fuck… please?"

Guerrero let go of his wrist. "Don't move that hand or I'll stop. Do you understand?"

"I… yeah..."

Guerrero took his cock in his hand, smearing the pre-cum over the head and began to jerk it roughly, in time with his thrusts, until Chance gave out a keening cry.

Chance was already close, Guerrero relentlessly pounding into him, hitting his prostate on almost every stroke. The addition of his hand, the same hand that he'd found so fascinating when his mind was too muddled to focus on anything else, pushed him over the edge. He came moaning Guerrero's name, painting their skin with stripes of come as his body tensed and shuddered. Seconds later Guerrero followed him, biting down hard on his shoulder to stifle the shout that ripped from his throat as he emptied himself into Chance.

He stayed slumped over him, his heat-beat thumping in his ears until he realised how uncomfortable Chance must be still pinned to the table with his body weight. He carefully withdrew, pulling up his jeans and righting one of the chairs so he could slump down onto it. Chance groaned and slowly pushed himself up off the table, his legs a little unsteady.

"When did it wear off?" Guerrero asked.

Chance, apparently unconcerned that he was still completely naked, gave Guerrero a wide easy smile. "Does it matter?"

"That kind of depends on how far we got before it wore off."

Chance picked his jeans up off the floor and started putting them on. "The drug didn't change anything, Guerrero, not really. It just gave me a shove in the right direction. And if you really need to know, it was about halfway through the blow job."

Guerrero nodded. "But without the drug?"

"I think we would have missed out. Don't you?"

Guerrero gave it a moment's thought before standing up. "Yeah we would've."

Chance gave him a dazzling grin and Guerrero snaked his arms around his waist and kissed him.

"You could have used the sedative on me," Chance said. "Why didn't you?"

"Just never occurred to me," Guerrero smiled.


End file.
